


What Jewels We Have Left

by Eshli



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Mild canon divergence, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshli/pseuds/Eshli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo has always wondered why sometimes his uncle Bilbo looks so sad and so lost. He wonders why there's stretches of time where he won't even leave the bed. Someone finally spells it out for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Jewels We Have Left

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I have written any Tolkien fanfiction but it was always my absolute favorite to write and I have no clue why I fell off the band wagon. Such a rich universe and such lovely characters and the movie take on them is so lovely. I just saw the Battle of Five Armies and my soul was properly crushed and I was inspired all over again to get back into writing fanfiction for this. Especially Bilbo/Thorin which they portrayed so beautifully in the movie and there was a lot of, in my opinion, strong intimate moments between the two.
> 
> Basically this story is told from Frodo's perspective. I changed the time line a little bit to Bilbo getting custody of Frodo sooner than 21 but it's generally the same canon. Years before the Ring comes into play and an undetermined amount of years after the Battle of Five Armies and Bilbo's homecoming.
> 
> I hope you guys like this. I'm going to start writing more for this again. I didn't read it over so if there's any bad mess ups, just let me know.

As far back as Frodo could remember, his Uncle Bilbo had always been sickly.

To be fair, sickly probably wasn't the best way to describe it. Bilbo would be fine most days but then sometimes, Frodo would look at him and realize how lost he seemed. Sometimes he thought it was because he was old but he still had the color of his youth in his hair and all the way through him and there weren't that many wrinkles on him yet for him to be senile so soon. So Frodo, at such a ripe age of only sixteen, thought that surely he must be sick.

It wasn't just that Bilbo looked lost though. Some days his skin seemed to gray along with his eyes and all of the color of the world seemed lost on him. He wouldn't eat and oftentimes Frodo would catch him staring out the window. Always looking off in the same exact direction.

On those days, Frodo would try to encourage Bilbo to take a walk with him. Half the time, Bilbo didn't seem to hear him. It was like he wasn't even there. If he did hear him, Bilbo would mumble incoherently before retiring for the day. Then he would sleep for hours. Hours would sink into days and Frodo would have to do his best to keep his uncle eating and drinking and well.

Then just like that Bilbo would be okay again. He'd perk up and get back out into his garden and enjoy long walks with Frodo and tell him all kinds of fun stories, made up or otherwise, and Frodo would forget about how sick his uncle was.

One day when Bilbo was experiencing a particularly rough patch of this mysterious illness, Frodo came across a young hobbit lass selling an entire wagon of flowers. She had apparently grown them all her own and they weren't the kind easily found on the side of the pathways or even in the forest. 

They were massive flowers with beautiful petals all brightly colored. Frodo's eyes caught sight of one in particular that stuck out from the rest. It was a blue flower.

"How much?" he asked curiously. The lass was barely any older than him and she smiled, shyly at him, he thought, but there was something too captivating about that flower for him to pay her all too much mind.

"Oh, oh you can have that one for free. First one is always on the house, yes it is," the lass said, smiling prettily. Frodo plucked the blue flower out of the batch and twisted it around in his fingers. It was a soft, fine blue. Royal, he thought. Yes. Royal was a very good word to describe it.

He flashed the girl a smile. "Thank you."

Once he got back to Bag End, he found his uncle sitting by the fire. He seemed deeply preoccupied with a heavy thought and his eyelids kept drooping as if he were about to fall asleep. The tea Frodo had poured him before leaving was still in front of him, untouched and cold by now, but Frodo paid no mind.

"Uncle," he said lightly, "I got you a gift."

"No, that's all right. I'm still drinking this one," Bilbo mumbled, waving his hand.

Frodo figured this would be the response. He stepped around the chair until he was in front of Bilbo and he bent down, bringing the flower up until it was eye level with his uncle.

At first, Bilbo didn't seem to see it. Then slowly Frodo watched as his eyes came into focus. Then the strangest thing of all happened. Bilbo's eyes began to fog up, water, and slowly, a single tear slipped out of the crease of his right eye.

"Where- what is that?"

"It's a flower, uncle. One of the girls was selling a whole bunch of them. This one really stuck out though. It's nice, isn't it?"

Bilbo raised a hand, hesitant, like the flower would shock him if he were to touch it but touch it he did. Frodo let go and Bilbo took the flower from him, staring at it with open awe.

"This-," Bilbo started to say but his mouth trembled and he covered his mouth. Frodo watched, more entranced than anything else by how strangely moved by such a trivial thing his uncle seemed to be. What was it about the flower? 

"Thank you, Frodo," Bilbo said and finally looked at his nephew, smiling a smile that made Frodo feel like his uncle would be back to himself in no time. "This is my absolute favorite color of all time. This exact shade."

"Is it?" Frodo asked excitedly. "I will have to remember. Blue then."

"Blue," Bilbo agreed, raising the flower up until the petals touched his lips. "This blue."

Giddy with the new information and comforted by the notion that his uncle was going to feel better soon, Frodo left him to his mind. 

The next day, Bilbo was out in the garden with his hands deep in the dirt and working away. A couple weeks later and Frodo noticed a very familiar blue flower popping up in one patch out in the garden. After that, their home was filled with the flowers nearly year round. Not every where. They were just placed here and there.

Frodo rather liked them.

As Frodo got older, so did his uncle, and the older Bilbo got the longer the periods of illness took him on. It changed in a way. He seemed to be genuinely lost sometimes like he was trying so desperately to find something and he would tell Frodo how much he loved him as if he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to say so otherwise.

On Frodo's 25th birthday, Gandalf came to the Shire for a long overdo visit and Bilbo was enthralled. Frodo hadn't seen him happy in such a long time and he watched the two sitting out in front of Bag End, smoking their pipes and laughing away at stories shared closely. 

It wasn't until a week into Gandalf's stay that Frodo's curiosity got the better of him. He called the attention of the wizard and asked for his company on a walk to which Gandalf agreed.

"You've grown so much, Frodo. Why, you're almost up to my knee!" Gandalf joked to which earned him a right glare from Frodo. The two quickly burst into laughter and Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, and as soon as I get to your knees I'll be sure to start biting them and tripping you up every which way I can," Frodo replied mischievously. Gandalf gave him a good-natured stern look and the two exchanged another bout of laughter.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you would cause me such misery. You Baggins are quite the pain in my rear, sometimes, you know that right? Why your Uncle Bilbo...." Gandalf trailed off, his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"Ah yes, my Uncle," Frodo agreed grimly. "I know all too well about him. Such an unfavorable hobbit that one. I'm afraid I take after him quite a bit."

"Afraid?" Gandalf said, "I'd be horrified if I were you."

Laughter and then a comfortable silence fell over them. Gandalf preparing one of his pipes and Frodo lost in thought.

"In speaking of my uncle," Frodo began. Gandalf raised a brow from below the rim of his pointed hat and gave Frodo a concerned look.

"What of him...?"

"I think he may be sick with something, Gandalf," Frodo confided quietly. Gandalf came to a stop, his face gravely serious.

"How do you mean?" he demanded with more aggression than Frodo expected.

"Just...just some days he-," Frodo started, unnerved by Gandalf's abrupt attitude. Slowly, he described to Gandalf those days in which Bilbo would act so strangely. The stern look on Gandalf's face slowly evaporated and instead was replaced with a look of such sorrow that Frodo had to look down. He knew it. He always had known it. His uncle _was_ sick.

"What does he have?" Frodo asked weakly. He had already lost his parents. But to lose Bilbo...He wasn't so sure where he would belong in this wide world if that happened.

Gandalf did not speak. Instead he beckoned to Frodo and started to walk again. They walked for a while until they came across a rather comfortable looking slope beneath a tree and Gandalf took a seat on the thick grass. Frodo sat next to him and patiently waited for the wizard. 

"It is....not a sickness of any physical kind. Nor is it mental," Gandalf said slowly, staring at the end of his pipe.

"I don't understand," Frodo said honestly.

"No, I don't suppose you would. Not many people would. It is a sickness of heart, Frodo."

Frodo couldn't help it. He smiled because...There was no such thing, was there?

"What do you mean, Gandalf?" he asked, amused. Maybe his response was immature but he was only twenty five after all. Still so young and still so naive. 

"His heart was broken a long, long time ago, Frodo. It was the kind of thing that could not be repaired by time- no matter how much lent to him. What Bilbo has gone through, most on this earth cannot imagine the suffering of. It is unlike any pain I should ever hope you will know," 

Realizing that this was serious, that Gandalf was telling him the full truth, Frodo stopped smiling. 

"What happened?" he asked.

"Quite simple, honestly. The answer is right there," Gandalf said, looking off and up to the sky. "Bilbo Baggins fell in love."

"Bilbo? He fell in love?" Frodo asked, dumbfounded. For as long as he had known Bilbo, Bilbo had never so much as batted an eye at _anyone_. He seemed completely uninterested in any type of relationship. Platonic _or_ romantic but especially romantic. He proclaimed to be a "life-long bachelor". 

"Very deeply. It was the type of love you discover in friendship and that type of love is...perhaps the strongest love that there is," Gandalf said and for a moment, it seemed as though he too got the very same look on his face that occasionally Bilbo got. Then it was gone and Frodo had half a mind to think he had imagined it.

"What happened?" Frodo asked, "Did they reject him?"

"Oh, no," Gandalf said hastily, "I don't think they would have ever rejected Bilbo had they known in time. You see, he died."

"Who died?"

"Bilbo's love."

"It was a male?" Frodo asked and for some reason, this information settled comfortably on his shoulders. It sounded right.

"A king, actually," Gandalf corrected, "And a great one at that. But...There was a war and...You see, I am not so sure what hurts Bilbo more. The death of him or if it was the fact that Bilbo had never once mentioned how he felt. I do think that he regrets that to this very day."

Frodo had only experienced emotional pain once before in his short life. He didn't factor in anger or random sadness felt from books. The real pain that nestled deep, deep inside and that was after his parents had died. It was something he had well moved pass by now but he could not fathom what it would be like for his uncle. He touched his hand to his heart. That pain he had felt- did Bilbo feel that every day? Like it was fresh?

Just from what he knew of his uncle, he knew that it was true. That those days where Bilbo couldn't eat, it was like he was there all over again.

"What was his name?" Frodo asked, suddenly thirsty for every piece of information about this strange love of Bilbo's.

"Thorin Oakenshield. A dwarf king," Gandalf said.

"Wait..." Frodo began, pieces slipping together in his mind. "You don't mean..."

"Yes. The very same one that your uncle partook in all those adventures in with."

It all made so much sense that Frodo felt like a complete moron for not seeing it sooner. Bilbo would tell him stories often of his travels and every time he did he would mention Thorin more than just about anything else and his eyes would gleam in a way that Frodo's did whenever Bilbo surprised him with pleasant gifts except for so much more intense. 

"What color were Thorin's eyes?" Frodo asked, already knowing the answer.

"Blue," Gandalf replied and Frodo thought of those flowers. The way that his uncle tended to them so much more intently than anything else in the garden.

"You know," Gandalf said, eyes bright with amusement once again. "When I look at you, I think you look quite a good deal like what might have been had Bilbo and Thorin ever been able to conceive a child."

Frodo raised his hands to his face, surprised.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. You have very similar blue eyes to Thorin and the color of your hair...Hm...Yes," Gandalf said, touching a finger to one of Frodo's dark curls. "I think Bilbo might see it too but it is not something he will want to admit to. I don't think that is a pain he could handle."

"Do you think it makes him sad?" Frodo asked, concerned.

"No," Gandalf responded confidently, "If anything, it would make him happy. It is like a piece of Thorin was given to him in a strange, mysterious way. That hobbit...He cared with so much in his being..."

The two did not speak for a long time after that and when the sun began to set, Gandalf announced that it was time to go home.

Once back at Bilbo's, Gandalf retired to the room Bilbo let him stay in and Frodo went to see to Bilbo in the kitchen. Bilbo who was just cleaning up after dinner and looking a little worn and tired.

Frodo stared at him at the entrance to the kitchen and he rested his palm against the curve of the threshold.

He knew that he shouldn't say anything. He knew that what Gandalf had told him was meant to be a secret but looking at Bilbo in such a vast kitchen, so incredibly alone, Frodo felt his chest ache.

"What was he like?" Frodo asked, startling his uncle into dropping one of the forks he was scrubbing. He looked at Frodo, frazzled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Thorin," Frodo clarified, "What was he like?"

Bilbo's eyes fogged over for just a brief second before he shook his head quickly, brows tucking together.

"No, ah- I'm about to go to bed, Frodo. It's too late for stories."

"What made you love him so much?"

Bilbo's shoulders stilled and Frodo stared at the back of his uncle's head. He did not move for a very, very long time and Frodo thought that the silence would choke him. He expected Bilbo to tell him to go away, to never ask about Thorin ever again. What he didn't expect was an answer.

"You know....Hobbits are very small creatures," Bilbo said in such a quiet voice that Frodo had to walk in towards him to hear. "They are...very small. Smallest race there is, I think."

Frodo didn't respond. He didn't think he was supposed to.

"But Thorin- he- he made me feel very big sometimes. Like I mattered in this world and that I was a treasure to him more...More valuable than any of those stones in his mountain. He saw me. And...And in all the same instance, he made me feel so..incredibly small. You know, that's the funny thing, Frodo, about being a hobbit. You're small but you never realize how small you actually are."

It felt true. Even with Gandalf looming over him, Frodo never truly felt like he was little. Just that he had to look up a whole lot more.

"But Thorin...He could make me feel so small and little. I always felt like I had to scream and shout for him to realize how big I was and how much I could do for him. I don't think I -." 

Bilbo's shoulders gave a sudden tremble and all at once, his uncle was on the floor, crying and Frodo had no idea what to do, shock spread across his face. Bilbo wasn't speaking and Frodo let him cry and cry until finally he went to him and touched his uncle's shoulders with both of his hands.

"Shh," Frodo whispered. "It's fine. You're all right. You don't need to be alone and you don't need to suffer alone."

Bilbo stared up at him, eyes glossy with tears.

"Oh, goodness, look at me, won't you? Crying like this. It's just so...so unnecessary," Bilbo said, laughing weakly. "Where is my handkerchief?"

"Here," Frodo said gently, grabbing the handkerchief from the front of Bilbo's pocket. Bilbo cleaned his face, blew his nose and dabbed gently beneath his puffy eyes.

"I'm such a fool," Bilbo said, "Crying.. over something so long ago."

"You're not a fool at all," Frodo said, "I think you're very brave."

Bilbo stared at him, frowning deeply before he fondly touched the side of Frodo's face with his palm. "Since when did you begin to mature so much?"

"Since I started to hang around wizards," Frodo replied and Bilbo let a laugh pop out of him, covering his mouth.

Once Bilbo seemed to be relatively okay, Frodo sat down next to him on the kitchen floor.

"He was so handsome," Bilbo said calmly, like he was discussing a book of poetry he had found. He sounded confident. "Gosh, you should have seen him. Such a grand dwarf. Thick black hair, stunning eyes. This sturdy body that- well- I won't...Ah...never mind about _those_ details."

Frodo had the decency to blush and Bilbo's mouth quirked in amusement. 

"Sometimes I thought perhaps that he felt mutually towards me. I would catch him looking my way in the most peculiar instances but I was always too much a coward to do anything about it. What was I to a dwarf king? I like my dirt and my seeds and my several meals a day and tea and doilies. He...."

"Sounds pretty majestic," Frodo put in. "No wonder you were never into any hobbits around here. What hobbit could stand a chance against a _king dwarf_? You really put the bar high up there, uncle."

"Now, now," Bilbo said smiling, "None of them had a chance anyway. I swore my heart to Thorin a long, long time ago and when he died I vowed that I would never love again. To be fair with you, I don't think I would have ever loved again even if I hadn't vowed that. There is only one moon in our sky, Frodo, and to me that was how Thorin was to me."

"To think that my other uncle could have been a king," Frodo said mournfully. Bilbo nudged him in the side, grinning.

"And I'm sure he would have been thrilled to have another heir to the throne."

"What would you have done if he had lived? Would you have come back to the Shire?" Frodo asked.

"Yes," Bilbo answered simply. "It is my home. He always knew that and I never doubted it. I don't think I would have ever confessed but I certainly would have kept in touch."

"And if he walked in through that door right now?" Frodo asked, pointing over to the front door. Bilbo stared that way for a long time and Frodo thought that he must be imagining the very thing itself happening. Maybe he shouldn't have asked such an intimate question.

"I'd..." Bilbo began, his voice wavering. "I would...I'd ask him if he would like a cup of tea. If he'd take off his jacket and stay for a while. Let him eat anything he wanted and then I'd..."

Bilbo's head began to turn back and forth, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Oh...Thorin..."

Bilbo's whole body sagged and his head fell forward and he caught it in his own hands.

"He was...so much to me...A friend, a- everything I could never even think of to say."

Frodo reached out and put his arm around his uncle. Bilbo slumped against him and didn't say anything more. Slowly, Frodo could feel Bilbo fall asleep but he didn't bother waking him. As he sat on the kitchen floor, he watched as the moonlight began to filter through all of the windows and all around them the house went quiet. Maybe it was his imagination, but for just a second, just the smallest second, he thought he could smell a gravely, metallic scent and hear the distant rumbling a voice unknown to him, deep and soothing and it curled around them like a blanket, pulling Frodo down into sleep. 

What he last saw before he closed his eyes, he still could not tell to this day whether or not it was a dream or reality, but he saw a stocky man with a thick, black beard and streaks of faint white in the line of his hair, crouching beside his uncle. The man lifted a heavy hand to touch Bilbo's face and when Frodo looked at him, he saw eyes so blue he wanted to weep.

Then he closed his eyes and everything was forgotten.


End file.
